Hide and Go Seek
by sexyslytheringoddess012
Summary: "Every game has a starting point. Do you remember ours? You better hope so or Sherlock might not survive!" Sherlock has been kidnapped and John to discover his location before Sherlock's time runs out and John loses him forever. Rated M for language and some violence.


So I literally wrote this in one night. I was watching Sherlock Holmes: Game of shadows and when the part came up where Moriarty had Sherlock hanging from a hook in that warehouse I immediately thought of this and couldn't get it out of my head. It's probably no good because I started it at 12 and it is now 7:52 but read it if you like and let me know what you think!

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Hide and Go Seek

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Five days. Five days, three hours and twenty-two minutes. That's how long Sherlock's been missing. John was pacing the flat trying to _think_, trying to deduce anything he could that would help him find the detective. He had woken up at four that morning, unable to sleep peaceful while his flat mate was in harm's way. It was nine now and he was getting more and more angry as time went on.

"Fucking damn it!" He shouted, slamming his fist into a wall. He couldn't do it. Sherlock was the smart one. Sherlock could tell your whole life story by looking at a picture of you or the clothes you wore that day or a bit of mud on the bottom of your left shoe. John was just a doctor. A doctor who couldn't find his best friend. A shrill sound echoed through the flat and John scrambled to grab his phone off the coffee table.

"Hello? Hello?" he answered breathlessly.

"John? You should come to the Yard," Lestrade's voice reached him urgently.

"Have you found him? Do you have Sherlock?" John asked desperately.

"No, but," Lestrade hesitated, "we were sent a video. You need to see it." John's heart thudded painfully in his chest.

"Oh, God," he croaked.

"John-" Lestrade started to speak.

"Oh, God. Oh my God, they're hurting him aren't they? Those _fucking bastards_! I'm going to-"

"Come down to the station and watch the video." Lestrade interrupted him.

"Yes, yes. Of course. I'll be there in fifteen." John said as he shrugged into his jacket and thudded down the stairs.

"Hurry," Lestrade urged before hanging up. John waved down a cab and snapped out the address to the driver, begging him to please, for the love of God, drive faster! He arrived at Scotland Yard twenty minutes later. John threw a few bills at the cabbie and ran inside.

"Lestrade! The video! Show it to me now," he demanded as he rushed into the Detective Inspector's office.

"Maybe you should take a moment to calm down and prepare yourself first." Lestrade suggested.

"I swear to God if you don't show me the video, I'll be the shit of you, Greg." John warned. Lestrade sighed.

"Alright. Follow me." He led John to a private room where a television was already set up. "I'm the only one who's seen it so far. I wanted to show you before I showed the others." John nodded and shifted his weight as he waited impatiently for Greg to start the video.

"John, what you're about to see…well, it's not pretty but you need to stay calm, alright?"

"Yes, whatever! Play it!" John snapped. Greg sighed and pushed play, stepping back to watch it again with John.

At first it was just Sherlock. He was chained to a wall, his hands were cuffed over his head and his feet were barely touching the floor. John let out a strangled half groan half sigh at the sight of his friend.

"Now, Sherlock. Just read the card and nobody has to get hurt." A man's voice said from off camera. Sherlock snorted as he looked up at the ceiling.

"Lie," he said, sounding bored and John shook his head. Only Sherlock would think being kidnapped and held hostage was boring.

"What?" The man snarled.

"You are planning to hurt me no matter what I do so, no. I will not be cooperating with you." Sherlock drawled.

"You will do what I tell you, Mr. Holmes, or you won't like what comes next." The man hissed.

"You are boring me. We are done conversing," Sherlock announced. "Worse than Anderson," he grumbled under his breath and John snorted. The man snarled and stalked forward. He punched Sherlock in the jaw, his head whipping to the side. Sherlock chuckled as he spit out some blood.

"Let me guess. Fresh out of jail? You were convicted for…abuse! Of your wife and son. Low level education. Did you finish elementary?" Sherlock tilted his head as he looked the man up and down. "Hmm, unlikely. Oh! And struggling with your newfound attraction to men. How is that going for you?" Sherlock taunted. The man roared with rage and let his fists fly. Sherlock took punch after punch, no sound escaping him except for the occasional grunt.

John stood tensely, his hands clenched so tightly that some of his nails broke the skin, drawing blood. After ten minutes the man stepped back.

"Read the fucking cards," He ordered. Sherlock glared at him through a rapidly swelling eye.

"Make me," he hissed. The man was silent for a moment, head tilted to the side as though listening to something, before he chuckled. Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"Read the cards, Mr. Holmes, or we'll hurt your friend," the man threatened. Sherlock paled.

"John?" He breathed. John winced at the fear he heard in Sherlock's voice.

"That's the one. Nice army doctor you live with. Wouldn't want us to pay him a little visit, would you?" The man taunted. Sherlock yanked at his chains.

"Don't you dare hurt him," he snarled.

"The cards," the man demanded. Sherlock nodded once in resignation and looked straight ahead to read them as the man walked off camera.

"Must I say it exactly like it's written? It's so juvenile," Sherlock said.

"Read it. Now." Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Hello, Johhny boy," Sherlock read in a monotone voice. "Missing your master yet? Three guesses who I am and the first two don't count. I want to play a little game of hide and go seek. You've got six days, pet. Find your master before it's too late. And because I'm so nice, I'll give you a hint: Every game has a starting point. Do you remember ours? You better hope so or poor little Sherlock might not survive. There's something I'm forgetting. Oh, I remember! For every day that you don't find Sherlock he will get another lovely set of injuries. And the game started," Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The game started the day I took him. By the time you get this it will have been five days. Did I forget to mention that? You better hurry because I promise you, if you don't find him by the end of the sixth day, I'll…I'll kill him." Sherlock finished. The man stepped towards him and Sherlock looked meaningfully at the camera.

"The first, John! Remember the very-"

"Shut up!" The man roared. He grabbed Sherlock by the hair and slammed his head into the wall twice before letting go and beating him with his fists until he went limp. The man walked out a view, leaving the camera pointing at Sherlock's limp bloody body for a moment before the screen went dark. John immediately burst into action.

"Why aren't you looking for him?" He nearly screamed at Lestrade. "We only have," he looked at his watch, "twenty hours left. Jesus Christ."

"John, calm down! We'll find him. We will, but I need you to focus. I couldn't start searching for him because I didn't know where to look. I have the clue but not the answer. Do you know what he was talking about?" Lestrade asked urgently.

"What? I don't know. I can't-I don't know! I can't think! Oh my God, they're torturing him!" John gasped. He could feel a panic attack coming on and he took deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down.

"John! Focus! What did he mean? What game?" Lestrade snapped, shaking him slightly.

"The game. It's Moriarty. To him, everything he does is one big game. I don't know where he's talking about though." John gasped out. Greg ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Okay, okay. I'll call in the team and we'll think of places to send them. We'll find him, John," Lestrade promised.

"Five days, Greg. They've already had him for _five days_." John moaned.

"John, I know you're worried for him and I know how scared you must be right now but I need you to concentrate, okay? Sherlock needs you to stay focused." John nodded, taking in big gulps of air.

"Okay, okay. I can do this. We'll find him. We have to find him." John said. He stood up as Greg called everyone in and played the video for them. John paced at the back of the room trying to block out the video by thinking of places that Sherlock could be.

"Game. Game. What game?" He muttered to himself. He suddenly slapped his forehead with an open hand. "I'm so stupid! The game! Lestrade, our first dealing with Moriarty! He kidnapped all those people and forced us to solve different crimes. That must be what he's talking about!" Lestrade nodded.

"So, what? The place where we found the first victim? Do you think that's what he's talking about?" Lestrade asked.

"It has to be," John said as he opened the door and followed Lestrade out.

"John, I'm sorry but this is to dangerous. I can't allow you to come with us. Just stay here and I'll call you when we-"

"You can fuck off with that, Greg. I'm going," John demanded.

"I can't allow you to go!" Lestrade snapped. There are bloody _rules_."

"Sherlock is missing. I'm going with you."

"No," Lestrade said, folding his arms over his chest. John stared him down.

"Greg, I like you. We're friends. But if you don't get in that car and take me to Sherlock I will shoot you in the foot, steal that car and go there myself." John said calmly. Lestrade threw his hands up in the air and sighed.

"Fine, but you're wearing a damn bullet proof vest." Lestrade snapped. John snagged one on the way out, making sure to grab a box of bullets and a gun while he was at it. John slid into the car with Greg and saw Anderson and Donovan getting into the car behind him.

"Do you really think they're the best people to bring along?" John asked. Lestrade narrowed his eyes at the doctor.

"They're good cops, John." Lestrade defended them.

"They also hate Sherlock." John pointed out.

"They aren't going to screw up the search for him. They know how serious this is and they know the consequences for hindering an investigation."

"You better hope so because if I think they do anything wrong or say one wrong word about him I'll handle them myself." John promised. Lestrade just nodded and made a mental note to keep an eye on those two. An hour later they all pulled into the parking lot where they had found the first victim, a women, in her car with a bomb vest strapped to her chest. When they arrived John immediately jumped out and scanned the surrounding buildings, looking for one that could successfully hide Sherlock for nearly a week. He shook his head in despair. All the buildings were fully functional and occupied. There was no way that Sherlock could be kept in one without being noticed by someone. John groaned as he yanked on his hair.

"Where is he? Where are you, Sherlock? I need you to help me. I can't do this by myself." John murmured.

"We can check the buildings but there aren't many places he can be." Lestrade sighed, hands on his hips as he surveyed the area. John suddenly straightened and Lestrade moved to his side.

"What? What is it? What are you thinking?" He asked.

"Shut up!" John snapped. I'm trying to think! No wonder Sherlock always yells at you!" Lestrade cracked a small smile and stood silently to John's left.

"Alright. What If he didn't mean the first victim?" John asked aloud. Lestrade opened his mouth. "Rhetorical!" Lestrade closed his mouth. "Maybe he means when he kidnapped me? That'll be the pool." John turned to Greg. "Could it be the pool?" Silence. "Not rhetorical," John sighed.

"Could be," Lestrade answered. "It's been closed for a week for renovations. Nobody goes in."

"Right. Leave two of them here," John gestured to the cops who were standing around awaiting their orders, "They can search the buildings. The rest of us will go to the pool." John said before getting back in the car.

"I am the Detective Inspector, right? Because I seem to be taking a lot of orders from a doctor."

"Hurry up!" John shouted at him.

"I'm going, I'm going!" Lestrade shouted back. He told his team the plan, ordering two of them to stay behind and search the buildings.

"Call me if you find anything. Everyone else follow me. We're going to the pool," Lestrade said.

They made their way quickly to the pool. John jumped out again and threw open the pool doors. He searched frantically for Sherlock, vaguely aware of the others doing the same. Fifteen minutes later he shouted in frustration. Nobody was there. He had led them to another dead end. He couldn't do this. He wasn't going to find Sherlock in time and he would die and it would be all John's fault and-

"John!" Lestrade called for him. John ran to his side.

"What? Did you find something?" He panted. Lestrade handed him a piece of paper.

"It was taped to the inside of the door," he sighed.

_Nice guess! Too bad you're wrong!_

_Tick Tock Goes the Clock, Johhny boy _

_And it looks like Sherlock's clock is winding down._

_Better Hurry!_

_-Jim Moriarty x._

John slowly ripped the paper in half, and then into quarters, continuing on until the note was shredded completely. John let the strips fall from his hand as he calmly walked back to the car, Lestrade trotting along behind him.

"John, are you…er, okay?" Lestrade asked in concern.

"Of course," John said softly as he got in the car and took out his gun. He had started carrying it with him whenever he and Sherlock left the flat because when one was friends with Sherlock one never knew when would need a gun to shoot potential enemies. John made sure it was fully loaded before taking out the gun he'd snatched from the Yard and loading it with the bullets he'd put in his jacket pocket.

"What do you have those for?" Lestrade asked suspiciously as he headed back to Scotland Yard.

"No particular reason," John murmured. As he pocketed the rest of the bullets.

"So you weren't planning on shooting anyone who tried to stop you from getting to Sherlock once we found him?" Lestrade asked sarcastically. John's face darkened.

"Oh, I plan on using them. I just didn't want to tell you." John shrugged.

"You can't just admit to me that you plan on shooting someone!" Lestrade shouted exasperatedly. "I'm Detective Inspector! I could arrest you!" John turned to look at him coldly.

"Are you going to arrest me, Greg? Because if you are I'm going to need you to wait until I've got Sherlock back," John said. Lestrade resisted the urge to slam his head into the steering wheel. Barely.

"I didn't hear any of that. You didn't just say that to me and I didn't just hear it," he said loudly. John smirked and Greg snorted. "Like working with bloody children," he grumbled to himself as he pulled into the parking lot. John got out slowly, still desperately trying to think of the answer to the clue.

"They retreated back to the private room with the television where they watched the video again and began to make a list of all the places Sherlock could be. After two hours someone was sent to get food and drinks. They spent fifteen minutes eating before they all piled into cars and headed out to search the places on their lists. They searched for six hours before meeting back up at the Yard. Everyone was really feeling the pressure now, John especially. It was 7:40 now, he didn't have a lot of time left and he had no idea where else to look! John tried to push the panic away but he could feel it creeping up on him. They only had four hours and twenty minutes left! John sat down heavily in a chair, his knees going weak. Four hours before Moriarty killed Sherlock and John had no doubt that he would. He should have known that Moriarty was an evil bastard when they met him for the first time…at…Bart's… John stood up so fast his chair went flying backwards.

"Lestrade! Greg, get in the fucking car!" John shouted as he ran out of the room, checking to make sure he had his guns and the box of bullets.

"What? Why? Did you think of a place? We can write it on the list and-"

"Sod the list! We need to get to Bart's. Now!" John snapped as he grabbed Lestrade's arm and dragged him out the door. John yanked the car door open and scrambled in, Anderson and Donovan climbing in the backseat as Lestrade took the wheel.

"Are you sure the Freak's going to be there? He wasn't anywhere else you said he'd be." Anderson grumbled. John whirled around in his seat and pointed viciously at Anderson.

"If I ever hear you call him a freak again I will shout you in the leg. Do you understand?" John growled. Anderson glared at him.

"You can't talk to me like that, right, sir?" Anderson snapped as he looked at Lestrade. John glared at him and he shrugged.

"I didn't see anything. I didn't hear anything," he said. John snickered and Anderson sulked silently. Donovan wisely kept her mouth shut. When they reached Bart's everyone jumped out and ran inside. They immediately split up and searched the building, starting from the bottom. They all ended up on the roof thirty minutes later.

"God. Fucking. Damn it!" John screamed. He felt like crying. "Where the fuck is he?" John suddenly gasped. "What if that bastard moves every time we get the right location? What if they moved to a different building while we were driving here?" John said as he paced agitatedly. He checked his watch and cursed again. It had taken them three hours to search the building thoroughly and now they only had fifty minutes left until midnight.

"John? John, calm down." Lestrade said as he placed his hands on John's heaving shoulders.

"I can't! I can't breathe! They're going to kill him!" John sobbed, the despair and hopelessness rushing up on him all at once. "They're going to kill him. What am I going to do? Oh, God! Oh, God!" John sobbed heavily into Greg's chest.

"Obviously we're missing something," Greg said as he rubbed John's back reassuringly, trying to push down his own rising panic. "What was the clue again?"

"Every game has a starting point. Do you remember ours?" John rasped.

"What if the start for him was different than the stat for you? What if for him the game started earlier or later than the bomb vest kidnappings?" Lestrade asked.

"I still don't know! That could be anytime! He's been connected to every case we had in some way!" John snapped.

"Every case?" Greg asked sharply. John nodded slowly, mind racing.

"Yeah, I think so," he said slowly. John gripped Lestrade's arm tightly. "Greg!"

"You've thought of something! What is it?"

"You remember when we first met?" John asked.

"I warned you about the F…about Holmes." Donovan said, coming to stand beside them. "That was the serial suicide case."

"A Study in Pink? That's what you named it on your blog." Greg said.

"That was the first time any of us saw you." Anderson pointed out.

"Yes, thank you for pointing out the glaringly obvious, Anderson!" John snapped. "That was our first case together. The murderer, the cab driver, he was working for Moriarty!" John exclaimed.

"Where?" Greg snapped as he began to drag John down the stairs. "Where is he?"

"You remember the building we found them in? Where I shot…er, where the cabbie had been shot? He has there." John explained.

"Everybody in a car! Someone grab one of the doctors. Tell them we need an ambulance with us as soon as possible. They need to be ready to follow behind us." Greg shouted out orders.

"Greg! We only have forty minutes left!" John panted.

"We'll make it. John, we'll get him." Lestrade reassured the doctor. John nodded once and practically dived into the car once they had made it outside. An ambulance was already waiting for them. Lestrade jumped into the car and sped off.

"Drive faster!" John shouted. Lestrade did as he was told, swerving in between cars as he raced to Sherlock. They screeched to a stop in front of the building and John immediately fell out of the car, racing to the front door of the building. A lone gun shot rang out and John pulled his gun out and hid behind the corner of the building, scanning the area for the gunman. John looked around the corner and spotted him instantly. The man was on the third story floor and he was shooting from the fourth window from the left. John waited until the gunman was completely focused on the newly arrived cops before stepping out from behind the corner. He aimed and fired, shooting the sniper in the shoulder. The man tipped out of the window in surprise and fell. John shot him again, this time in the head, before running into the building. Lestrade and the others followed behind him and they fanned out searching every room. Suddenly loud music began to play throughout the building.

"Speakers?" Donovan said in confusion. "Why is he playing music?" A man started to sing in German. "Why is he playing German music over a speaker?"

"AHH!" They heard the pained shout mix in with the German lyrics. John stumbled to a stop. Someone giggled before the scream sounded again. "ARGH! GAHH! AHHHH!"

"Sherlock!" John screamed as he raced through the building, desperately trying to find him.

"Looks like your pet made it after all, Sherlock! The question now is: Will he find you alive or dead?" Moriarty's voice sounded over the speaker. The German music switching off. Sherlock's heavy breathing echoed in the sudden quiet before he screamed again.

"Sherlock!" John shouted. "Sherlock!" Lestrade and Donovan followed him up to the third floor. They kicked doors in, searching every room as they went down the hallway. They kicked in the last door and John gasped, his knees buckling beneath him. Sherlock was hanging from the ceiling, a large hook speared through his right shoulder. His left arm was obviously broken and he had multiple stab wounds and bruises. Moriarty turned to them, eyes narrowed in anger.

"Why aren't you dead? Seb should have killed you before you made it this far!" Moriarty snapped. John sneered at him.

"I killed him. Just like I'm going to kill you." John snarled. Jim laughed excitedly.

"No, no, no. You haven't killed Seb. They haven't killed you, right, lovely?" Jim called.

"Of course not boss." A man's voice said from above them. John looked up to see a man standing on a scaffold in the corner.

"Why haven't you shot them yet, Sebastian?" Moriarty asked, voice suddenly low and dangerous.

"Waiting for the right moment, boss." The man rumbled. Jim smirked.

"Fantastic." Jim said as he turned back to Sherlock. "Keep an eye on them." Moriarty grabbed Sherlock's left leg and yanked hard before he ran in a circle, swinging Sherlock around on the hook. Sherlock screamed and Jim laughed.

"Leave him the fuck alone!" John snapped, stepping forward with his gun raised. Jim laughed at him but let Sherlock go. Sherlock was gripping the hook's chain with both hands, his head hung low and blood dripped from his body, landing in an increasing pool on the floor.

"Or what, Johhny boy?" Jim taunted.

"I'll kill you." John snarled. "I swear to God I'll shoot you."

"You won't live very long afterwards. Neither will they," Jim nodded towards Lestrade and Donovan. "Especially not Sherlock." John growled at him.

"I found him. Give him to me. Let us go," John snapped.

"Sorry, pet. You didn't find him in time." Jim smirked. John checked his watch, it was 11:58.

"Liar. It's still two minutes to midnight."

"I changed the rules. Didn't you get the memo?" Jim asked. "Time doesn't matter anymore. No, I want to see you beg like the stupid puppy you are. Beg for your master." Jim sneered. John glared at him.

"No," Lestrade snapped. "We played by your sick rules but we're not playing anymore. Give Sherlock to us so we can get him medical help." Jim raised an eyebrow.

"Who are you?" Jim asked snidely.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade. Give him to me." Jim smirked and stepped back holding his arms out.

"Come and take him," Jim taunted. He snapped his fingers and Sebastian Moran shot out the lights, throwing them into complete darkness. John threw a hand out, grabbed a fistful of Greg's shirt and threw him to the ground, all the while raising his gun and aiming for where he had last seen Sebastian, firing off three shots. A few seconds later twin beams of light swept through the room. Lestrade and Donovan had taken out flashlights. John saw a shadow moving to his left and fired his gun. A searing pain raced through his side as he heard another shot go off. He stumbled and fell to one knee. He pressed a hand to his side, feeling a warm, sticky wetness and knew he'd been shot. John pressed firmly against the room as he forced himself back to his feet.

"Sherlock," he croaked and the two flashlights turned towards the middle of the room where Sherlock was still hanging. John ran forward and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's legs, lifting him so that all of his weight wasn't hanging on the hook. Lestrade put some light on the chain and John could see more clearly.

"Lestrade, we need to get him down." John panted. Greg raised his gun and shot the chain. Sherlock fell limply and John caught him. He collapsed to the ground, Sherlock falling against him. Greg and Donovan knelt down beside him.

"Did we shoot them?" Greg asked. Donovan swept her flashlight beam across the room.

"We hit someone but they both got away." Donovan sighed.

"John, is he…He's not breathing!" Lestrade exclaimed. John held his hand under Sherlock's nose and checked his pulse. Nothing.

"Lestrade elevate his feet, Donovan cradle his head." John snapped. He ripped Sherlock's shirt open, wincing at the collection of bruises, cuts, and burns. "You are not going to die on me, not today." John began to perform CPR, all the while cursing Sherlock.

"You are not leaving me you selfish bastard!" He shouted as he breathed into Sherlock's mouth. "Come on. Come on, Sherlock." He muttered as he pumped Sherlock's heart for him, ignoring the searing pain in his side. He breathed into Sherlock's mouth again before checking his pulse. Nothing.

"No!" He shouted. He slammed a fist against Sherlock's chest. "Come on, you bastard! Breathe! Damn it, Sherlock, breathe!" John slammed his fist down again, and again, and again before Lestrade stopped him.

"John, that's enough." Lestrade said softly.

"No it bloody well isn't!" John snarled as he pounded on Sherlock's chest again.

"John! He's gone!" Lestrade choked. "He's dead." John shuddered and collapsed against Sherlock, crying brokenly, deep gut-wrenching sobs that shook his whole body.

"Sorry, sorry, so sorry. My fault. All my fault. Oh, God!" John sobbed into Sherlock's still chest, one hand pressed firmly against his wound, the other clenched Sherlock's shirt. Pounding feet reached him and he looked up as the paramedics finally arrived. They stopped at the sight of Sherlock's still body and sighed.

"We're too late?" One of them asked. Lestrade nodded. John ignored them, cradling Sherlock's body to him, his forehead resting against his friends as he cried. Too late, too late. If he only he could have gotten Sherlock's heart beating, just long enough for the paramedics to get here. If he had been faster, better, smarter. John's head suddenly snapped up.

"You!" He snapped at the nearest doctor. "Do you have any adrenaline with you?"

"We have adrenalin shots for when we need to jump start someone…heart." The paramedic said. John held out his hand.

"Give it to me," he ordered as he laid Sherlock flat on the ground. He was handed a syringe and he checked the amount in the bottle before ripping of the cap with his teeth.

"What are you doing?" Donovan asked him as he searched for the perfect spot on Sherlock's chest.

"I'm about to administer adrenaline straight into his heart. Hopefully that will get his heart started again," John breathed. He took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out as he stabbed the needle into Sherlock's chest, pushing down on the handle to inject all of the liquid. He pulled the needle out, tossing it over his shoulder. They waited for a minute and John felt his hope dying as they waited longer and there was still no reaction. John closed his eyes in defeat when there was a loud, pained gasped.

"Fuck!" Sherlock shouted as he clawed at his chest with his right hand. "W-what did you give me?" he shouted at them, glaring right at John. John laughed happily, momentarily forgetting that he had been shot.

"Adrenaline!" He said.

"Who's been dancing on my chest?" Sherlock snapped.

"I have." John said, a large grin spreading on his face.

"John?" Sherlock said a peculiar expression passing over his face.

"Yeah?"

"I do believe that I am about to pass out," Sherlock said simply before glaring again and pointing at John. "Did you call me a 'Selfish Bastard'?"

"Probably."

Sherlock nodded once before he slumped to the ground, unconscious. The paramedics helped carry him down stairs and outside. John froze in shock when he saw Moran and Moriarty lying face down on the ground, multiple bullet wounds on their bodies and too-innocent looking cops standing nearby. He laughed, slightly hysterically, as Sherlock was loaded into the back of the ambulance. John climbed in beside him, one of the doctor's tending to his gunshot wound.

He knew this nightmare was far from over but with Moriarty dead and Sherlock found and on his way to the hospital John thought that they would have plenty of time to heal.


End file.
